


Potter Baby

by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by Santa Baby, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/pseuds/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns
Summary: A shower of gifts proves to be worth it in the end.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2019





	Potter Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Shifts between Harry and Hermione's points of view every other scene. Hope you enjoy!

“Blimey,” Ron exclaimed to Harry with a huff. “I’m starting to hate this time of the year.” 

Harry gave him a sideways glance as his fingers grazed the display shelf before them. “Do I dare ask why?” 

Ron’s hands jutted out in front of him, and he made an expression as if the answer was obvious. 

“These bloody gifts, Harry! It’s one thing to get  _ the  _ perfect gift for my fiance, but to get the perfect gift that tops the  _ last  _ perfect gift? How am I supposed to know which is which anymore?” Ron raised his arms then waved them down in a snap. “I can’t keep up, mate!” 

Harry chuckled lightly. “You’re marrying Pansy Parkinson, Ron. What did you expect?” 

The redhead in question ran a hand through his hair and gripped it. “I dunno! Not this. I reckon Mione isn’t that difficult to gift ‘round Christmas.” 

Quite the true statement.

* * *

_ Potter baby, just slip the kneazle under the tree...for me...and hurry through the Floo tonight. I'll wait up for you, dear... _

Hermione eyed the box in her lap skeptically. It had a decent weight to it, and it clearly contained something that required the need to breathe given the small holes etched on each side. Though, the vibrant gold and baby blue wrapping material kept her from making a full assessment or guess to the box’s content. 

Her eyes shifted from the present to Harry. He was leaning against the fireplace in his flat sporting that horrid, flashy Christmas jumper her mum gave him the year before. Despite the obvious distraction on his person, Harry’s gaze was on her, clearly watching for the curious witch’s next move. 

“You do this every year, Hermione, and I’ve yet to prank you,” Harry remarked lightly. “Open it.” 

Hermione pointed a finger towards him and gave him a warning glare. “One has to be cautious when the words Dirty Santa are floating about the Burrow,” she said. 

Harry snickered, which only made Hermione’s eyes narrow. Nonetheless, she removed the top of the box and peered inside. It was barely a second later that the brunette gasped. 

Staring up at her was a thick, fluffy half kneazle. Its fur was caramel with an orange patch on its chest. Its head was tilted as if he were examining her instead of the other way around.

“I know you’ve missed Crookshanks since he passed over the summer,” Harry said. 

She hadn’t noticed that he’d moved from the fireplace until she felt his hand on her shoulder. 

That’s also when she noticed her tears staining her jeans.

_ Think of all the fun I've missed. Think of all the blokes that I haven't kissed... _

His cheeks were flushed beet red; his position in front of Hermione was the last one he thought he’d be in. Given the redness that tinged Hermione’s cheeks, he could tell she was having similar thoughts. 

It’d been an accident, really. He was running from the twin’s latest flying contraption—the bloody thing had protection charms all over it—when he crashed into Hermione in the Burrow’s sitting room. 

While it was fortunate that nothing was broken, it was  _ un _ fortunate that they’d landed under something far worse: a fresh, dazzling mistletoe. Harry knew better than to believe it was an ordinary mistletoe. 

He’d rather face the flying contraption. 

Her wide, chocolate eyes bore into his, and she chewed on her bottom lip. He wished she hadn’t done that; the flush on his face was heading in the southern direction. 

“Just a peck so we can leave,” Harry said, hoping he sounded convincing. “It’ll only take one second.” 

Hermione nodded, glancing towards the floor. “That’s the best solution. It’s logical…” She bit her bottom lip again. “It’s just that...erm...I haven’t...Fourth Year…” 

She was babbling, which was not Hermione. From the words he could make out, Harry put the pieces together. The victorious feeling of figuring it out was vastly overshadowed by the awkwardness of their reality. 

“...Oh.”

Hermione hadn't kissed anyone in nearly six years. 

That was awkward for Harry because of the flurry of thoughts coming to mind. His last kiss was last week if he really wanted to count being harassed and assaulted by his secretary Penelope—there was  _ no  _ mistletoe around like the blonde claimed. He checked. His experiences aside, he couldn’t help but wonder how someone like Hermione—even with her occasional violent tendencies—hadn’t been kissed in years. Then he wondered what this moment meant for her, what it’d mean for him, and what would happen if–

He felt his heart stop as her soft lips pressed against his own. And it lasted far longer than one second.

_ Potter baby, I want Flourish & Blotts and really that's not a lot. Been an angel all year. Potter baby, so hurry through the Floo tonight... _

Hermione was highly disappointed in herself to the highest degree. Harry, with Ron’s assistance, managed to get the drop on her in her flat, which led her to be blindfolded and taken to some unknown location. She was not a huge fan of surprises, and they wonder why she had to whack them every now and then. 

“When I can see again, I swear you both will feel my wrath,” Hermione huffed. “Or at least my irritation.” 

“Ron left right after we blindfolded you,” Harry replied. 

“He’ll feel it when I find him then.” 

“I may change your mind after this.” 

Hermione snorted harshly as she felt his fingers graze her skin to remove the tie around her eyes. It was claimed to be an extra precaution since the prats also cast a temporary blinding spell. “Harry Potter,” she said, “for as long as you’ve known me, you know I keep my word.” 

He muttered something that she gathered was the counter to the spell, and when she could see again, Hermione whipped around to point her finger at him and poke his chest; he was in possession of her wand after all. 

“Now that I can properly see again, you’re going to feel…” Hermione trailed off as she looked around the familiar shop with a frown. “Why are we in Flourish & Blotts, Harry? Isn’t it closed for the holidays?” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I owled the manager with a request, and for a good price, the shop is yours to enjoy for the remainder of the day. Any of the books you wish to take back to your flat is already paid for.” 

Her irritation dissipated upon hearing his explanation, and her heartbeat quickened. 

* * *

_ Come and trim my Christmas tree...with some decorations bought in Diagon Alley... _

_ I really do believe in you. Let's see if you believe in me. Potter baby, forgot to mention one little thing...a ring... _

Another year came and went, and the holidays were back again. While the two frequented around one another, Hermione couldn’t shake the feelings that were growing for Harry. From his thoughtful gifts to the brief kiss under the mistletoe at the Burrow, how could she not? She wanted to pretend things didn’t happen between them in that way because there were still the other days in the year she faced him and the others. 

Surprisingly, their routine around one another didn’t change. She had shamefully expected it to change considering his track record of other women he was close to. Though, with all the things they’d encountered together, she wasn’t like the other women was she? 

The rattling of glass startled Hermione and pulled her from her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to see Harry come through the living room entryway carrying a box of Christmas baubles threatening to spill over the sides. 

“You can thank Parkinson for all these. I only asked for her opinion, and now I owe Ron two nights at the pubs of his choosing,” he said with a small frown. 

Hermione clicked her tongue, tilting her head in an effort to deter a rush of emotions. “You didn’t have to do that, Harry,” she said. “I’m more than capable of buying my own baubles.” 

Harry shook his head. “If anyone knows it, it’s me, ‘Mione,” he said with a light shrug. “I just wanted to do it.” 

She pursed her lips. Something sounded suspicious in his words. “You’ll have to do better than that, mister. Out with it. Last year you gifted me with so much, and now you’re back again trying to decorate the tree in my flat as if you don’t have your own.” She had to know. “I appreciate you so much, Harry, but why?” 

He sighed and set the box down on a table next to Milo; luckily, the half-kneazle didn’t appear as grumpy as Crookshanks would have. He then knelt on one knee next to Hermione with a sigh. 

“The Weasley’s are always going to be family to us,” Harry said, “and logically it would be easier to ‘stay in where I fit in’ as it were.” Harry shook his head and looked into Hermione's eyes. “Something changed last year for me. Spending my time with and on you for the holidays was like, I dunno, home.” 

Hermione wondered if he could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest like she did. 

“You’ve always been there Hermione, and to feel that familiarity means a lot to me. It took more time than I wanted for me to realize that I shouldn’t and don’t want to let go of that. I want to feel like this with you throughout the entire year and not just around Christmas.” 

He was red in the face, and Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to breathe as he pulled a small box out of his pocket. Upon opening it, there was a silver band with an oval-shaped sapphire in its center. 

“Do you feel what I feel?” Harry whispered. 

Hermione released a short breath. Her answer was immediate. “Yes.” 

“Would you like to feel this way year-round?” 

“Yes.” 

Harry held her left hand, and she could feel it shaking. “Marry me.” 

Her emotions betrayed her wannabe strong demeanor as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. She should be thinking about things rationally and clearly. She really should. 

“Yes, Harry. I will.” 

His vibrant green eyes sparkled, and he slipped the ring on her finger with a shaky breath. Hermione released a sound mixed with a laugh and sob as Harry pulled her closer into a hug. What he probably didn’t realize was that Hermione was overcome with emotion and decided to take initiative much like she did with the mistletoe. The hug changed into a kiss, and she poured what she tried denying and pushed back through it. Harry swiftly followed suit. 

_ Hurry down the through the Floo tonight. Hurry, tonight... _


End file.
